Eli dropped the nose-picking guard with a shadow-slick punch; the man fell with a dull thud like a sack of grain. He pushed open the woodshed door, breath fogging in the dust. A girl sat on the floor, blindfolded and gagged, like a small bird tangled in cloth. Her tears soaked the white strip over her eyes, a rain stain on silk, making her look heartbreakingly fragile.

So this was the mark, a lantern lit in a storm.

Helplessness pooled in the Demonic Lord’s chest like stagnant water. She sat on the cold earth, grit biting her skin, and swallowed a sigh.

The guard had propped her upright earlier, then closed the door with pond-still calm and walked out, never minding Edlyn’s state. So the Demonic Lord’s discomfort gnawed at her like ants under bark.

Eli sliced her bonds with knife-bright efficiency. She rubbed her eyes, voice hoarse like wind through reeds, and cried, “Help… water… water.”

Eli blinked, moon-clear, and handed over his canteen.

The Demonic Lord muttered thanks twice, like two pebbles dropped in a stream, then chugged the water as if a drought-struck field finally met rain.

Eli studied the girl who could guzzle yet stay pretty, a plum blossom flecked with mud. Her white dress was smeared with gray dust, like ash on snow. Red leather shoes clung to small feet set in a duckish W, heels slipping like loose shells. She hugged the canteen and drank like tasting an immortal spring, tossing image and decorum to the wind.

Eli clicked his tongue, a sparrow’s scold. With that frame, she didn’t look like the pretty-but-empty type. How’d bandits net her like a fish in shallow water?

Schemes fluttered through the Demonic Lord’s mind like black moths. When she handed the canteen back, she’d strike the heartbeat when he stowed it and cast the Subjugation Mantra. Let this fellow sleep like a rock in night rain, then she’d wear his clothes and slip away like mist at dawn.

She wiped her mouth, smile crescent-soft, and passed the canteen back. “Thanks.”

Eli took it, wiped the rim like brushing dew from a leaf. “Ah, no problem.” He rose, ready to lead the girl out, but her gaze fixed on his face, thoughts gathering like clouds.

“Huh? Boy, have I seen you?” The girl’s doubt perched like a crow on a branch.

Eli tilted his mouth, a crooked riverbank.

Really? This kid uses that old, dusty opener?

He shrugged, mountain-calm, and moved to stow the canteen.

“Now! Take this!” the girl cried, voice sharp as a bird’s strike.

Eli’s free hand shot out, lightning-quick. He caught her raised wrists and lifted her, light as a squawking duck.

Both froze, still as frost on bamboo.

The motion was too familiar, like a pattern carved into bone, done a thousand times under one moon.

Eli blinked, mind fog drifting.

Edlyn’s eyes lit like flint. She ignored being hoisted like a roast duck on a hook, and pinned Eli with a hawk’s stare.

That clean face, that bone-deep familiar move, merged with the one from her past life she hated to the marrow. The overlap was seamless, like two shadows cast by the same sun.

Back then, the Hero’s hand had clamped her throat; otherwise, nothing differed, not even a breath.

“Hey—! You!” The sight hit Edlyn like thunder splitting a ridge.

What did she do every single day? She cursed the Hero, like clockwork, like a temple bell at dusk.

Instinct fired; she tugged her hand but found it locked like a door in winter. She snapped a kick, hard and clean, aimed straight at the Hero’s crotch, a stone flung at glass.

“Ai-ya!”

Eli frowned, a crease like a knife mark. He stowed the canteen, then caught her arcing foot with the other hand, hawk’s talons on a branch. She didn’t quit; the second leg flashed in.

Eli sighed, helpless as a leaf in wind, and flipped her into his arms. “Easy, easy. I’m not those kidnappers. I’m here to save you.” His voice held the steadiness of a grounded tree.

She struggled with stormy force, but his hold stayed solid as ironwood. She bit her lip, a cherry under frost. “You’re the one I’m hitting.”

“Huh? Why?” His confusion fluttered like a moth at a lantern.

“Why? There’s no why… hmm? You don’t know?” Suspicion pooled in her eyes like ink.

“What?” Eli squirmed under her stare, skin prickling like grass in cold wind.

She leaned in, nose small and sharp as a sparrow’s beak, and sniffed him. “Mm. Your soul has that nauseating stench, swamp-stale and vile. Your body reeks of that damned foul aura, like smoke in a closed room.”

She circled Eli once, a cat around a brazier, brow knotted. “Mm… I shouldn’t be wrong, right?”

Eli chuckled, river-light. He was sure this little one’s head wasn’t screwed on straight, like a lid set askew. No wonder bandits caught her in their net.

“Wait—something’s a little off!” She blinked those big lake-clear eyes. The soul and body both smelled like Birand, that same iron-sour scent. But the parts were all different, like a mosaic reset. “You reincarnated too!” She clapped, delighted, hands ringing like firecrackers. He reincarnated; which meant he died. The thought danced like sparrows.

Oh my, congratulations, congratulations, a peach blossom in spring.

Watching her suspicion flip to clapping joy, Eli stepped back, a tide easing from shore. Maybe this kid had more than one loose screw. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

He sighed, wind leaving a flute. “Miss, I’m here to save you. Are you coming with me, or staying to be the bandit chief’s prize bride?”

“Go with you? I’d never… mm.” Edlyn raised a barb for her arch-enemy Hero, then remembered her hands were empty and her strength a cold ash.

If she stayed, wouldn’t she truly become that prize bride, a pearl pinned in a boar’s pen?

Her tone flipped like a fan. “No, no. Honored sir, please take this humble one away.”

This kid’s definitely not right, Eli decided, verdict firm as a seal in clay.